Asleep or Dead?
by EverAce
Summary: 2P FACE! Allen has no idea what changed. Why did things change? Why did he change? (Unintentional eating disorder, depression, and nightmares. Rated T for now.)
1. Chapter 1

It was Al's turn to gather "ingredients" for Oliver's new cupcake recipe. Cupcakes. He can't stand the sugary stuff himself, there's milk, and eggs in the mixture. It just wouldn't do for a strict vegan.

'At least Ollie isn't asking for any animals' he thought to himself as he grabbed the keys for his truck. Human Crooks he would collect willingly, and today he had a bone to pick with a fellow who hadn't paid him back. But adorable, innocent animals? That would be too cruel. Oliver had only asked for human blood, but Alfred was already planning on getting his revenge anyways.

Besides, what was he supposed to do? Set up a donor van for the good of twisted bakeries? Haha.. No.

Once he pulled up at the said human's house, he pulled out his bat from the back seat and snuck to the back door. The doors were unlocked, what a surprise. He wouldn't have to bust a lock this time. He heard someone speak, but the second voice was too distant to make out. The young man put his bat against the wall and cuffed his ear to the wood. The criminal was on the phone with someone. Al listened closely, as the conversation was on speaker. A few seconds later, he got the gist of the call. Planning to flee the town, eh? Too late.

Right as he turned to pick up his bat again, the door clicked open. The victim in question's eyes went wide as he recognized the armed man.

Al gave his coined intimidating smirk. "Six months. That was our deal. And how long has it been now?" he said with feigned curiosity. The man hesitantly murmured that it had been over a year. "Bingo. Got the cash, Mac?"

Al cornered two goons into a dead end alley. Despite the fact that Al had the upper hand, the duo continued to insult him. All of the insults seemed petty, until he had his bat ready for impact. "Haha, bet you won't put a dent on our heads." The crook smirked. "So you're going to eat us when it's all over, huh? Dunk us in lard?" That one bothered Al a bit to be honest. But he faked a grin and retorted "Nah, I don't eat meat."

Al drove home, three jerks in the backseat. He entered the house to find Matt sprawled out on the couch who greeted him with a smirk. "Two and a half hours, Al? It shouldn't take THAT long to take three targets down." The Red-eyed American clenched his teeth, face burning with anger. Matt just chuckled. "What a dumba-"

Oliver who was in the kitchen stopped him with a nasty glare, his eyes bouncing from Matt, to the Swear Jar on top of the fridge. Matt sighed, and reached for the TV remote. Allen tossed the kills in the basement and began to jog up stairs. Al could have sworn he heard Matt mutter insults about 'Stupid, Fat, Americans.' He just shook his head.

His room was just as he'd left it. Posters of the American flag, a dart board covered with pictures he found of his many war enemies. He shivered just looking at them, and leaped onto his Eagle bed sheets. An hour later he heard his name being called from downstairs. He hurried down, not wanting to be yelled at further.

Francis was sitting dazed in his chair lighting up a smoke, expressionless as always. Oliver was humming a somewhat familiar tune. Matt, who had just set the table sat, waiting for the others to join him.

Everyone dug in right away. The other three boys wouldn't show it, but they loved their brother's cooking. Oliver knew, however, and gave a delighted smile. He loved watching his family eat. Not in a creepy way of course, but there were times in the past where there hadn't always been enough food for them.

Oliver had to contain his shiver at the thought, and put a fork full of potatoes in his mouth. He would never forget these times, no matter how hard he tried.

******He loved his family. He'd make and sell cupcakes forever if it meant they were safe.**


	2. Chapter 2

Al woke up sweating, and ran from his room to the bathroom in the hall. He emptied his stomach, and slid on the tile floor. What... was that? 'You're such a wimp!' his dark side bashed. 'These dreams you have? Stupid. You're stupid.' They've never been that bad before... 'If your brothers knew about them they'd think you're weak. They'd leave you. No one can ever know.'

At that moment, Oliver called the younger boys of the house from the kitchen. Al slowly picked himself up, quickly brushed his teeth, and stumbled down stairs.

"Ollie, it's Saturday. What the fu- I mean frick." Matt complained. Oliver sighed, and gestured to the calendar. The boys looked at the date and realized that it was March 1st. Every three months for the past few years, Ollie insisted that he gave them all a physical exam. They could only get medical treatment if absolutely necessary, and the sweets baker was paranoid when it came to the boys' health. The older brother pulled out "borrowed" equipment, and moved towards the younger nations.

The boys groaned as Oliver began to rap monitors on their wrists. After a few moments the boy took note that both their blood pressure and heart rates were normal. He pulled out measuring tape, even though he already knew that Al was 5'9, and 5'8 and He examined them both and had them remove their shirts. Both seemed healthy, he decided as he checked for any damaged organs.

Then the scale was brought out. Matt stepped on and the numbers 143.1 registered. He hopped off and Al took his place. 151.3. They were perfect, as they always were. Oliver smiled, relieved. They put their shirts back on and Oliver kissed them both on the top of their heads as he went to his study.

When he was out of hearing range Matt uttered "Well that wasn't creepy at all." Al chuckled and nodded in agreement. "It's almost scary how protective he is." Matt continued. "Who needs four exams a year?" Al shook his head. "I dunno, but if it'll get Ollie to chill out..." he drawled. The boys then went their separate ways for their work.

He could hear screaming and crying, piercing unidentified noises. He could hear Matt's voice: Cheering, Demanding his death. More screaming. Blood.

Oliver appeared. "A cupcake for you, poppet." he said with a sick smirk. He shoved a cupcake into Al's mouth and his entire stomach filled with fire. Acid spilled into his veins, racing until it reached his core. He could feel his insides melting while Oliver laughed...

When he woke up the real Matt was at his door and Al jumped when he saw him. "Dinner's ready, jerk." he insulted, watching out for wild Swear Jars. "Matt, I'm not very... hungry. I ate earlier." The Canadian gave him a strange, confused look. He hadn't seen Al eat a thing all evening. "Suit yourself." he shrugged and returned to the kitchen. Al didn't know why, but he really couldn't eat anything. Nothing at all.

Francis was at the table reading the paper, silently drinking beer. Oliver was happily cooking. Matt re-entered the dinning room. "Al says he's not hungry." he stated as he sat back down at the table, Oliver was very puzzled. "Not hungry? He was out working all day...?" He questioned.

"He said he ate something earlier, but he's been napping all afternoon. He even looked a bit spooked when I woke him up." Oliver was a bit worried. Al never skipped out on dinner. The young man didn't eat much in the first place, but he always ate something. 'Al is just fine' he reasoned 'You checked him just this morning. He was perfectly fine. It's just one meal...'

Dinner continued.

When they finished, Oliver cleaned the dishes and went up stairs to check on Al. The English man couldn't help but worry, his instincts flashing on.

He cracked open the door and found the America asleep. 'Are these...tears?' Oliver frowned. Reaching out, he softly wiped the liquid away from his eyes. Ollie didn't know what to do, or what to think. He sat next to Al until the tearing ceased.

'What's wrong with my Baby Brother...?"

_He could see Francis in his rocking chair on the porch. He shook his head, and burned Al with his cigarette. Al couldn't move as Francis grabbed him by the neck and branded him with awful words._

When Al woke up, he immediately tried to sneak out before anyone could question him. With his kill list in hand, he tiptoed through the halls. Right as he reached the door, Oliver tapped his shoulder, tilting his head in confusion. His blue eyes fogged up with concern. "Al, I went to check on you last night. You were... tearing up. Are you alright?" Al burned red and wasn't sure how he could convince Ollie that he was fine. He couldn't tell him about the nightmares, so he lied. "Oh, right. Before I fell asleep, I tried to take out my contacts, but they were stuck. Guess they watered a bit."

"O-okay. Well, let's get you some breakfast. You'll need the energy for all the kills you'll be taking today-"

"Actually Ollie, I'm not very hungry right now."

"But...you didn't have dinner yesterday...?" He frowned.

"Yeah, but I had something to eat last night." he gave his most convincing face "I just don't want to be weighed down. I've got important business."

Oliver was conflicted and concerned, but gave in. He always had trouble negotiating with his younger brother. Besides, Al would definitely be home for dinner. He'd be sure of that.

Al was confused as well. Why was he even doing this? What is this about? That dark side of him was telling him that he was a burden. That they would prefer him to be less needy. What is that even supposed to mean? Before he could think of anything else to say, Oliver interrupted his thoughts.

"Just- You'll have lunch right? Protein, Fruits, Vegetables, enough calories to get you through?" He rambled.

"...You're such a worry wart. I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

He ran off before the other could reply.

Yes. Oliver was a bit creepy in this chapter, but it's his way of caring, haha. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

It was six o'clock in the afternoon when Al finished his work. He drove home to drop everything off before anyone else could get home, and left his truck behind as he headed out again. After jogging for a while, he found a tree and slung himself under it. He hoped his brothers wouldn't be able to find him here, he really didn't want to go home and face them yet.

He took his jacket and glasses off. 'Face what?' His good side pondered. 'You haven't done anything wrong...?' Al wasn't sure what was going on with him. Why is he acting this way? It's so stupid. And weak, and-.

Al wanted his mind to shut up already. He took his bat, and in anger started swinging. In the spur of the moment, he didn't realize he didn't have anything to swing at until it was too late. The impact of the nailed bat and his arm drew blood. Al dropped the bat immediately and his eyes rifted to his busted limb.

The lower half of his arm, closer to his hand remained untouched. It was his upper arm that he found alarming. The nails had pierced his skin in several places. His tanned skin was now blemished. Red liquid rose from the surface.

His brothers were going to kill him.

'They don't have to know' he told himself 'HIDE IT!' He pulled gauze out of his bag and didn't bother disinfecting it before he wrapped his arm. Once it was secure, he was unsure of whether he should wear his bomber jacket in case it stained. He ran home, and when he arrived, climbed to his bedroom window and slammed it open.

He had to be quick. If they didn't see him walk through the door they'd be suspicious. His closet was already open, and his gray hoodie was right there. He leaped for it and threw it on before jumping back out the window and sliding to the ground. On the way down his hoodie rid up and he cut his side on a rough edge of the house. Al cringed. Great. Another cut. He mentally face palmed.

When he got to the front door Oliver was already preparing dinner. Al could see him happily cooking, but every few seconds he would look out the window with a seemingly worried expression. Allen sighed and checked to make sure his arms were completely covered up. Oliver beat him to the door handle and pulled him inside.

Al put on his usual irritated mask even though he really didn't feel like himself at all. Oliver fell for it however and took the expression as a good sign as he pulled Al to the couch before he could lock himself in his room or leave again.

Oliver finished his cooking with his eye on the American. When dinner was ready, he grabbed Al by the waist and dragged him to the table, placing him in the chair next to his.

Oliver brought out plates of chicken and rice for everyone, with the exception of Al, who had Tofu on his plate to substitute. Francis and Matt started right away. The Englishman gave Al a demanding nod to eat, but the red eyes boy just stirred food around the plate with his fork.

"So... How was everyone's day?" A lit up Oliver asked. There were murmurs of "Good." And "Fine." in reply. Oliver wasn't quite satisfied though, so he tried to start conversation. "Last night I dreamed that the town all joined together for tea! It was so nice!" He giggled. "Did any of you have dreams?" Al's face turned white as a sheet. Oliver saw it right away, before the color returned, and was confused. He made a mental note to ask him about it later. Al regained his composure and the three boys shook their heads, continuing.

Allen tried to eat. He really, really did, but even a few grains of rice alarmed his nerves, threatening him with bile. Oliver Kirkland looked over to Allen and noticed that he hadn't taken a single proper bite. The rice had been stirred to seem like he had eaten some, but the older brother knew that he was not mistaken. Francis and Matt took no notice. The Baker had to call him out on it.

"Al?"

Allen turned to his brother with slight Alarm. "Yeah...?"

Oliver laced his fingers for his chin to rest upon. "Are you alright, love?"

Allen's face bursted into the brightest red, and he covered his eyes with his hand before looking back. "Yes _brother_... I'm just fine." he said through his teeth.

Oliver was in no way convinced. "Take a bite poppet, I made it just for you." He smiled with concern. Matt burst out laughing, and Oliver shot him a nasty glare which silenced him.

Poppet.

_Poppet._

He tried to ignore the phrase and moaned in feigned annoyance. "I'm fine Oliver, I'm just fine. Not hungry."

Ollie placed his hand over the boy's forehead, which was immediately slapped off by the strong boy. Oliver sent a short aurora of hurt. Al sighed. "I'm sorry Oliver. You know I love your cooking-"

"This is not about my cooking Allen..." He Interrupted. "I'm just a tad worried. What did you have for lunch?"

Allen racked his brain for an answer. Some sort of food he could say he had that afternoon, that would make Ollie's worries go away. He hesitated though, and the boy who loved to bake's eyes went wide, sadness filling the blue. He looked back in shock, Francis and Matt were confused as well. Oliver gave the other two a look as if to say "Please leave the room for a moment." They nodded and left without complaint . Al wanted to make up an excuse,to say he had simply forgotten, but when he opened his mouth, a spoonful of rice was forced in.

Al's face went green as the food reached his stomach. It was like his dream-! No...no! He didn't even notice that Oliver was still spoon feeding him till the fourth or fifth bite. He shut his mouth right away and glared daggers at his blue eyed brother. Imaginary eye lasers shot around the room, and he ran to the upstairs bathroom, feeling sick. Oliver called him back with obvious concern and stirred up emotion.


	4. Chapter 4

Al heard Oliver call for him to come back, but he couldn't care less. His dreams were filled with pain. He was filled with pain. He lifted the toilet lid and fell to his knees. Oliver rushed in. When he saw Allen, he felt his heart sink. He ran over to the boy and attempted to keep the hair out of his younger brother's face. When he finished, Al fell backwards, on top of his brother. Al didn't want Oliver to be there, and he was almost too embarrassed to speak. "Ollie, please leave me alone.." The American moaned.

But knowing Oliver, he wasn't going anywhere. He found he was correct when the older closed the bathroom door, and pulled him off of the cold bathroom tile in a tight embrace. Al winced in pain and felt the acidic taste in his mouth return as he felt arms constrict his abdomen. The sibling saw this flash of discomfort grace his face and softly gasped. He loosened his hold a bit.

"Stay absolutely still." Oliver sniffed. He spoke inaudible things into his neck, and Al felt tear drops run down the shoulders of his hoodie. Al stopped caring about the world around him for a moment and just froze. When he came back to the real world he caught a glance of Oliver trying to speak to him. Al was too caught in a daze to catch a word he said. When Oliver looked into his red eyes, he saw torture and torment. "You've never... done that... before." he said being careful with his words. "W-Was it my fault? Did I mess up the food?" Al slowly shook his head and whispered, "I- I just got startled was all. Please forget about this."

"I don't understand, you were just fine just the other day! Your organs were fine, you are at a proper weight. No sign of illness at all!" he rambled, upset. "It's fine Ollie. I'm just fine."

Oliver wasn't sure what to do. This kind of thing didn't usually happen to countries, much less to Al. The only think he could think to do was check him again. While he knew that was extremely creepy to intrude on Al, he was very concerned about his brother's health. Countries, while not as easily as any mortal, can die. No, but Al won't. Never.

He gave his brother an apologetic look and started to remove his hoodie. He'd leave his shirt on he thought, he just needed to help. Al was about to let him, he always did, when he remembered that his arms were completely trashed. He pulled the hoodie down quickly, and the two fought to have their way.

"I'm fine, Oliver! Leave me alone!"

"Then why don't you prove it?" He said, with a hint of anger.

Al, having no energy from not eating all day, lost the battle. The gray fabric was removed, and Al was left with his thin T-shirt.

Oliver sat in silence for a moment, his eyes grazing for imperfections. Right away, he saw the bandage.

"What's that?" He asked, all frustration with the boy faded away, replaced with a twinge of pain.

"I-I fell from a tree spying on a Kill." He blurted.

The American wasn't all too convincing, his usually perfected poker face slid off like cupcake batter

"...Lies. Tell me the truth Al!" he growled.

"I'm sorry I'msorryI'msorry Ihitmyselfwithmyownbat. It was an accident!"

Oliver looked confused and slightly crushed. "Wh-what? Why would you...?" He scrambled to unwrap the gauze. He sucked in oxygen and held his breath when he saw it. He then began to lightly sob.

Allen never before understood why his brother cried so easily. He could see now how it was possible to feel so much, but why was he so upset? Al didn't feel that he was all that important. Sure, he helped his brother out with his business. That alone however wasn't a reason enough to keep him around. He decided he would go along with what he knew he should do, attempt to comfort him.

"I didn't do it on purpose." he said, trying to stop his brother's sorrows. Oliver wiped at his eyes with his pink sleeve.

"...You swear you didn't do this to yourself on purpose. With your entire being? You swear?"

Al nodded untruthfully. "I'm okay Oli. I'm okay."

I know it seems kind of overly emotional, but I feel like Oliver is one to take things to the extreme. I'm so glad people are enjoying this. It's my first fic, actually. So thank you! : )


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Oliver seemed to be back to his normal cheerful self again. Matt and Francis were out for a walk, leaving Al and Oliver to themseles for a moment. Al made sure to eat a small amount of his food so not to worry the pink haired man. Tiny specks were all he could stomach. For a while it seemed that he would get away with it, That is... Until the American put his fork down. Oliver's blue eyes immediately shot his way. Staring. 10 seconds went by. 15. Al blinked-

And there Oliver was, in the seat next to his. Al's face paled slightly as his older brother's eyes scanned about his form. The front door clicked, Matt and Francis entered the room. Francis took one look at the pair and stalked off muttering something about not wanting to deal with any "shenanigans.". Al immediately locked eyes with Matt, a small "help". The Canadian, understanding, interrupted the scenario.

"Al, I've been meaning to ask you about something." He gestured upstairs, towards his room. Oliver was frozen, but eventually looked up at Matt. Matt cleared his throat. "It's important...Come on Al." Oliver stared at the two with confusion, but nodded. Matt grabbed the American's hand and dragged him upstairs.

Once they reached Matt's room, Matt shut the door and plopped on his bed. "Thanks bro...I was really in a bind there-"

"Sit down." The Canadian interrupted.

"Wha..?" Then it dawned on him. "Oh, no, not you too! I'm fine Matt. Really-"

"You don't seem fine. You've been so distracted and aloof, You've got this whole thing going on...!" He gestured towards Al's frame.

"What thing?" Al bites his lip nervously.

His brother sighed. "You haven't been eating at all, have you?" He looked Al over, with a head ache coming on.

"Of course I have- granted, not as much as usual, but I-"

"Shut up." Matt groaned lightly. His gaze averted to his injured arm, covered by his hoodie. Al tried to keep a straight face. "What? You didn't think I knew about that? I'm your fucking brother Al."

He lightly took hold of his arm. "I _know_ when you're hiding things. I see you when you move your arm the wrong way and flinch."

Matt took a moment to collect himself before he tugged Al over to him by his good arm. He scanned him up and down before he pulled up the sleeve of his his bandaged arm. Al triedto object, but Matt was already rolling the sleeve back down.

Matt sighed into his hands. "What the hell have you done to yourself, Al?"

The American grumbled somberly "M' fine Matt. I'll be fine."

"Don't lie to me!" He shouted, tensing up. "I'm your twin brother, I know how you usually are, this isn't fuckin' peachy keen, Al Jones!"

Al growled in frustration. "Just forget about it! I don't care, you shouldn't either!"

Matt paled a bit, before his face quickly morphed into one of anger. "You don't care? You don't care that you're hurting yourself with all these damn injuries, starving yourself to fucking death?"

Al clinched his fists. "I'm not starving myself, Matt. I'm fine, damn it!"

"Fine...Fine?" He breathed out. "No. Just no, this isn't-"

The door opened and the french man walked in. There's silence for a moment, before he spoke, voice grumbly and low. "I heard cussin'. Just thought I'd remind you that Arthur is in the other room."

Matt rolled his eyes, and looked back to where Al was standing, only to find that he was already gone, shoving past Francis and out the door.

The Canadian gripped his blonde hair and groaned. "Damn it Al…"

The French man looked behind him, a slight glimpse of confusion gracing his features, but immediately shook it off, returning to his indifference.

When Francis left, Matt found himself pacing the carpet, biting his thumb nail occasionally. He looked up towards the world map on his wall, and glared wearily towards North America. He slowly exhaled.

"I'm not giving up on you."

**I'm so so so so so sorry! First of all, for the wait, and second for the quality of this chapter in general. Thank you for sticking with me!**


	6. Chapter 6

Al stomped through the kitchen, right past Oliver, who protested with a raised and concerned voice. "A-Al?" The younger whipped around. "What?" he grumbled, gritting his teeth. "Love...a-are you alright?" his brother stuttered, expression distraught. The young man ran his nails across his own face, frustration coursing through his eyes. He simply shook his head and turned away.

"Where are you going?" Oliver breathed out.

"Out."

"No you're not, you can't. Not now."

The boy laughed cruelly. "I'll do what I please." He reached for the door's handle.

"Al! You listen to me, it's dark out, I'm not letting you run out at this time of night!"

The American yanked the screen door open so roughly that if he had the muscle he did months before, he would of snapped the henges. Jogging down the front steps of the isolated house, he could hear his older british brother's voice, pleading him to return. Conflicted with himself, he paused for a moment, but ultimately decided to storm away into the field. He decided to put some distance between himself and his home before he turned around. Behind the transparent door he saw the figures of his brothers, his family. Francis appeared to be holding Oliver back, whispering in his ear. Al heard a final cry and cringed, turning away. He looked back. Matt was racing down the stairs now, mouth moving, asking something. Oliver seemed to have his face in his hands, while Francis pointed towards the door. Matt looked out towards Al, eyes widening. He ran down the porch, his light weight jacket flying as he went.

His brother was like a superhero, he decided, before his mind could shut the idea down. The Canadian's form grew closer, his shouts becoming louder. Matt was a few yards out when Al realized that he didn't want to be caught. That's when he started running. It took every ounce of energy, every bit of everything he knew he didn't have to keep going. He couldn't be caught. He shouldn't be here. He should be far away, a place where no one would feel obligated to care for him. His heart was pounding out of his chest. Every step he took felt heavier than it should have. Light headed. He hit the ground.

Back in the house, Francis was holding on to a sobbing Ollie.

"F-Francis, he's going to hurt himself…!" Oliver's face was panic ridden.

The Oldest, having not been around as much recently, had no idea what this entire scenario was about- but he was quickly catching on. Francis lightly brushed his fingers through his brother's blond hair, then pulled him into a reassuring embrace. He hummed softly. "Chut...chuuut...shhhh." he whispered. "It'll be alright. Things will be okay." Oliver slowly softened up from his tense state.

Ten minutes later, Matt slowly carried his twin brother up the porch bridal style. His brother was so light. Why was he so light?

As he and his brothers had such supernatural strength, it was no problem for him to carry things heavier than him. Except Al _wasn't _heavier than him anymore.

'You've always been so strong.'

It was a silent and mutual agreement that Al would stay in Matt's room until he woke up. The Canadian gently rested his brother onto his red and white bedspread and gently brushed the boy's hair out of his face. He whispered a short prayer, and slipped out of the room.

Making his way downstairs, he found Oliver and Francis sitting half way up the steps. Oliver's cheeks were tear stained, but he was nodding in response to something his brother had said. Matt quickly placed himself on the stair above the two and brushed his own hair out of his face, sighing.

"Alright." He muttered. "What do we do now?"

They sat in silence for a moment before Oliver spoke up. "He looked so pale..."

"And he weighs so much less." Matt added with a frown.

"Has the boy ever been so distressed?" Francis asked.

Oliver and Francis shuffled nervously, and Matt spoke up "I'm really worried about him. I don't think he should be so light now."

Al woke up a few hours later slightly confused, and very frustrated. He only had a moment to throw on cleaner clothes before the door opened, and Oliver and Matt came in.

Al glanced at the two of them and growled. "Why can't I just have time alone?"

Oliver and Matt looked at each other sadly. "Are you hungry?" Oliver asked softly. Matt moved towards the American's bed to put the clothes he had been wearing in the hamper to be washed.

Al took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself enough to speak. "No." he replied simply.

"Are you sure about that? You haven't eaten in a while now, I'm starting to worry a bit." He chuckled bitterly.

Al looked back at Matt, who was making the bed.

Matt quickly included "Al, you're scaring us. Your clothes are huge on you..." When he finished, the Canadian nodded at Oliver to continue.

"Funny." The American retorted. "They always said I needed to lose a bit of weight."

Oliver bit his lip and laughed with all the sarcasm he could include in such "amusement".

"Alright. You think you can push me around just because I don't like to fight? Well, you can't. It doesn't matter what you want. I'd rather not have to be the one to find you dead!" Oliver choked out, clenching his fists.

Al was nearly livid at this point. "It doesn't matter what I want? Why does it matter to you so much if I take care of myself? Why does it matter to any of you? I'm still out working for you, I'm not going to slack off. So what does it matter? I don't care about myself, why should you? You've never cared before!"

Oliver's eyes filled with both shock and anger. Matt moved to the corner of the room silently.

"How could you say that? How could you say such terrible things about yourself to me? How-how DARE you?"

For the first time, Al was slightly frightened by his brothers tone. "Ollie?"

The boy with unnaturally colored eyes shook with anger.

"I'd give up EVERYTHING for you! All of you! How could you accuse me of not caring about your well being?"

He pointed quickly towards Matt "He's worried about you." He points out the door. "Francis too!"

Al kept silent, as Oliver was breathing heavily, but of course, Al decided he'd push things a bit further once his brother had caught his breath."

"I don't care."

Oliver nearly exploded.

"Y-you don't...care? Damn you! Don't you get it? I fucking love you! I always have!"

He pulled at his own hair in complete frustration. "Let me take care of you, damn it! Let me save you for once! I need to fix you again! I-I need to fix you or I'll...or I'll end up killing myself over it!"

Francis opened the door, and saw that the young adult was practically screaming. He raced over to him and attempted to hold him up. "Oliver...that's enough."

Oliver yanked away from his hold. Francis didn't know what to do, and was too afraid to intervene again.

"No! It certainly isn't enough!"

Al was nearly in shock. Oliver pulled the boy over to him and threw his arms around him. He sobbed into his shoulder and spoke just for him to be able to hear. "You n-need to take care of yourself! I can't let you waste away like this."

All Al could do was barely nod. His own eyes filled with tears.

"Don't tell me you don't need this. Don't tell me to leave you alone." Oliver cried silently.

The four of them held each other until they fell asleep.

**Three months without an update? I am officially the worst fic writer ever. **

**But I have made this one promise to myself- that no matter what, I will always finish my fics.**


	7. Chapter 7

Al felt himself drifting away. He glanced downwards towards his figure, deranged and distorted. Like the caricature one sees in a funhouse mirror. Surrounded by a pitiful darkness, he felt constricted, like he was enclosed in a small space. Allen hated this feeling. A threatening force hit him, and he felt the black walls caving in. All oxygen fled from his lungs. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe! Why couldn't he move? He tried to flicker his fingers, hoping to regain some control. However, his body gave no leeway, and that's when panic really set in. Moments later he swore he could hear whispers from far away, frantic, demanding. He found himself feeling very, very afraid.

Oliver was lying down and staring off into nothingness, when a small whimper coming from the other end of the couch caught his attention. He immediately shot up to investigate to find his American brother, tense and still.

He leaned over and whispered his name, hoping that he wouldn't startle the boy in doing so. Soft shaking of his arms and legs did not awaken the boy with the shrinking frame.

Oliver almost decided he shouldn't bother trying to wake him, and turned his form towards the sleeping Canadian and French man. Francis was leaning on the corner of the wall with a blanket and two pillows behind him. Matt, Oliver noticed, had his head resting gently upon the older's legs. A smile graced Oliver's face. He looked back to Al.

But this time, the scene was different. In just a few seconds, the initial tenseness has escalated into heavy breathing, and even fear…?

Oliver choked up a bit. "Allen?"

The boy's breathing became much heavier. He heard a small pleading gasp.

Oliver sprung into action. "Oh God, Oh God. Al. Allen?"

He took the boy's hand and squeezed it. No response. "Lovely, you need to wake up for me please!" He shook his shoulders lightly. Allen let out a small cry, a reaction from whatever terrible world he was currently in.

Oliver himself started shaking in fear. He stumbled over to his other brothers, his family, and woke them. "It's Al!" He croaked. The other two quickly became aware of the situation.

"Hey, bro! Bro!" Matt put his hand over the American's head. It was warm, too warm. Francis looked over with concern, bitterly cursing in French. "What do we do?" Matt bit out. Oliver took a deep breath before picking Allen up and squeezing him tight.

Wrong move, he realized. The boy started screaming, then kicking, until he fell off the couch and his eyes snapped open. "No no no no no."

"Allen, Allen, Allen!" Oliver was a broken record.

Matt sat criss cross, staring at his lap. He wished he knew what was wrong with his brother. This had never happened before recently. Why wouldn't Al tell him what was going on. It didn't make sense.

He growled softly to himself. And how come he didn't know himself? He and Al knew nearly everything there was to know about each other. Sure, their relationship was a bit strained as of late. But he still liked to think he knew what was on Allen's mind.

Oliver was pacing. Francis had decided to take Al outside, declaring that he probably needed fresh air. Matt sighed into his hands. When the two stepped back in, Al's face was still tear stained and red, but he was slightly more collected than he had been. He signaled his twin to come to him, and he hesitantly did so. Soon Matt was gently leaning upon him, and Al flinched. He almost moved off of him out of concern, but Al shook his head and held him there. Al needed him there with him, even if the touch scared him.

Matt slowly took his hand, and he attempted to voice what he had been thinking about for the past half hour.

"Bro, I want you to be okay, but I don't know what's wrong. How can I help?"

"I don't know." Al whispered.

"You...Al…"

"I really don't know. I feel terrible for acting like this, but I don't know what to say."

"O...Okay." The Canadian accepted the answer. "Will you let me, er, us help you? Help you figure this out?"

"I...yeah. Thank you…"

I'm sorry that this chapter isn't very long, but it actually took a lot out of me to write it! I've been pretty dizzy recently, so writing has been a challenge. I made a promise long ago however, that I will never stop writing a fic until it is complete. I'm already working on the next part, so hang in there!


	8. Chapter 8

Oliver read the number on the scale. 118. He felt a bit dizzy thinking about that number. It had only been two, three months since his little brother had been at 150. 150 wasn't bad at all, He had been muscular. Strong. His brother was- is strong. But now he can't help but worry. His brother is a bit taller than him, yet he now weighs less than Matt. Heck, he probably weighs more or less what he himself does now. He was tempted to trace the younger boy's chest. An old habit of inspection he'd had since the war. Al's frame was a bit bigger than Oliver's. It was supposed to be. Oliver was unusually petite, and often found himself a bit jealous of Al and Matt.

He shook off these thoughts, realizing that Al was looking down now, likely a bit nervous.

"Francis is fixing lunch. You will be joining us, right?" Oliver could smell lasagna from the other room. When Allen took in the scent he felt stirring in his stomach.

"I'm not really hungry, Ollie." Al muttered under his breath. He was shuffling his feet, quite uncomfortable.

Oliver bit his lip. "I wasn't really asking, you know."

Al tensed a bit, his voice even quieter this time. "I don't want to."

Oliver hadn't really been much like himself all day. Last night had really drained him, and he couldn't say he was feeling patient. He tightened his a fist a bit.

"And why not?"

"I feel sick when I eat now." he admitted.

Oliver's eyes coated with a tinge of sadness. He slowly released the tension in his hands. "Does it really? How does it hurt?"

"I can try eating a little bit. Last time I truly ate with you three I ended up sick in the wash room."

"You mean when it happened that one time-"

"No... it sort of happened again a while back."

Oliver felt like screaming. He hated seeing his American like this. He walked up to him and embraced him around his middle. So much thinner…

If this were any other situation Al would have rolled his eyes. Instead he let his 'caretaker' hold him. He knew if he were to break away, he would end up hurting the other's feelings more.

Matt called that dinner was ready from the other room, and the plates were all set. Al considered sitting at the far end of the table, but Oliver had already taken that into account, and snagged the seat before he could get there.

Damn Brit.

He found himself sandwiched between Oliver and Matt. Francis whistled as he washed his cooking utensils, and then sat at the other end.

You'd think with all three of them watching so closely that at least one of them would realize that Al had barely eaten a thing. He made a big show over the first couple of bites. As the group relaxed into conversation, he more so cut the pasta apart and spread it around his plate. Painting a ripe red picture on his white plastic canvas.

He wasn't sure why he avoided eating at first, but regardless, it was now part of his routine.

It was only when Matt mentioned chocolate cake in the fridge that he really started to freak out. He was never a fan of sweets in the first place, but chocolate cake? Now?

Oliver could see this inner turmoil taking place. "Just a bite, love?" He asked hopefully.

Allen nodded nervously. When the cake came out and onto his place, his stomach cried out. The lack of substance in his system was finally starting to get to him. He'd have to eat something. But it hurt, God, it hurt. Oliver nodded in a supportive manner. If only he knew how the American really felt.

What was supposed to be a bite turned into two, then three, then the entire slice. His face morphed into one of panic. He felt so heavy. So disgusting! He launched out of his seat and to the door. He wasn't going to be corned, not again. Because he really was quite weak, the three brothers caught up to him quickly. The Brit grabbed his hand, and it was a team effort to hold onto him so he couldn't run away from them.

"Allie, calm down!" protested Matt, trying to get ahold of his arms.

A snarl. "Don't call me that!"

"Al, my sweet, shh. Shh!"

"Oliver Kirkland, let go of me, or I swear I'll-"

"Non." Francis grumbled.

After a few more seconds of struggling Allen crumbled to the ground, and began to tear up.

"I feel sick, let me go!" he whined. Oliver brushed the boy's hair out of his face. "I'm afraid we can't do that lovely. I'm sorry."

"Matt, you know what it's like to feel trapped, please!"

Matt looked at him with surprise and replied. "Al, you aren't well right now. We really can't let you go."

"Why?" He laughed bitterly. "Because I might hurt myself again? Because I might make myself sick?"

"Yes!" Matt shot back, looking mildly exasperated.

Francis stepped out of the way, Matt and Oliver were left half straddling the distressed American.

"Leave me alone..."

"Not a chance." Matt murmured in his ear.

**I absolutely loathe myself for not having posted in so long. Tip for up and coming fic writers: please, please write your work in advance. I started doing that but I slipped up. Thank you all so much for your patience (Assuming you are still there!)**


End file.
